


What You're Made Of

by BananaStickers



Series: 2017 Stanley Cup Playoffs (Alternate Universe - The Payment) [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: AU of an AU, BDSM, BDSM Done Wrong, Betrayal, Blood, Collars, Dog Bowls, Dominance, Flogging, Foot Fetish, Humiliation, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Pekka Rinne talks like a Bond villain sorry not sorry, Revenge, Spider gags, Submission, Whipping, leather pants, non-con, secret clubs, water sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStickers/pseuds/BananaStickers
Summary: If the Preds won the Cup.  Secret BDSM clubs, Pekka Rinne in leather pants, Sidney Crosby in nipple clamps, and a healthy side dish of revenge by Brandon Dubinsky.***Please read author notes - this SHARES a first chapter with a different fic of mine, but then gets very, very different...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically part of a AU-verse which is detailed below. Unlike the other fics, which sparked an idea once the playoff series was over, I had very different ideas for what I was going to do if either the Pens won the Stanley Cup, or the Preds won the Stanley Cup. They are EXTREMELY different (fluff vs BDSM) and I gotta write while the muse is there, so...I wrote both. (The other fic, Netflix and Chill, which details fluffy beginnings between Guentzel and Forsberg, is now posted.)
> 
>  
> 
> **Both Netflix and Chill and this fic SHARE chapter 1, since the original idea was just to write that chapter, then finish writing the rest once the series was over. If you've read N &C, please proceed to chapter 2!**
> 
>  
> 
> So, this assumes the Preds won Game 6, then it moved back to Pittsburgh where they won Game 7 as well.
> 
> Because the Preds DID NOT win the Stanley Cup, this is an AU...of an AU? Hoo boy. Let's just go with it. If you're following the saga of the 2017 Playoffs in my AU, this didn't happen, just a what-if. And of course, in real life, this _definitely_ did not happen. All fiction.
> 
> ### Series Summary
> 
> I'm planning to have this fic be readable even without the rest of the series. (Each fic details one round of the playoffs.) As a quick summary, in this slightly Alternate Universe, each team is eligible to choose a losing player for "The Payment" when they win a playoff series. And for 3 hours, they get to do anything they'd like (nothing permanent or broken) to that losing player. Sex crimes are treated much more blase in this universe.
> 
> In Round 1, the Penguins beat the Blue Jackets. Sidney Crosby raped Brandon Dubinsky (to teach him a lesson, and for revenge) with Malkin, Kunitz, and Hornqvist as accomplices. This was not revealed to the rest of the Pens. **Although you don't need to read this fic, this fact will be extremely relevant to this story.**
> 
> In Round 2, the Penguins beat the Capitals. Marc-Andre Fleury was suspicious that something terrible happened to Dubinsky, so asked to choose The Payment to protect Matt Niskanen. He and Braden Holtby ended up having a fun, consensual time.
> 
> In Round 3, the Penguins beat the Senators. The Pens team (non-sexually) humiliated Bobby Ryan, and Fleury confronted Crosby. Flashbacks to the 2012 Payment where Scott Hartnell & Chris Pronger beat & raped Crosby.

Game 3 had gone...poorly, to say the least.

"Ugh." Phil Kessel took a step back from the steady arms of Carl Hagelin, who had been helping him down the hallway. Nick Bonino hovered behind them with his own issues; he was still in a boot, hadn't played game 3. They'd all gone out for a drink. Just one, because they weren't _that_ dumb, to take the edge off a 5-1 loss, and now they were back in the hotel. But Phil was cramping up, and he knew that he was probably dehydrated, that the beer didn't help.

"Here." A Nalgene was shoved in front of his face. Bonino always carried one everywhere he went. Even though the "HBK" line wasn't playing together this year, they'd become best friends and drinking buddies. Phil couldn't think of two other men he'd rather drink away his sorrows with than Haggy and Bones.

Kessel accepted the water gratefully, chugging half of it before handing it back. He stayed slumped against the wall. They were all close to their rooms now, but Phil didn't want to go back, not yet, not to the cold silence of the hotel room where he couldn't stop himself from picking apart his performance, piece by piece. The vets always got their own room, and usually Phil liked that, but sometimes... "This sucks."

"We weren't very good tonight," Bones admitted, and Carl snorted.

"You didn't even play. Don't include yourself in that cluster fuck."

"Well, I meant the team 'we'."

Phil smiled, patted Nick on the shoulder. "Woulda been different with you in the lineup, Bones."

"Damn straight. Bones woulda made it happen," a voice behind them piped up, way too cheerfully for what had just happened in the game. Conor Sheary nodded at the trio, having just exited the elevator and heading to his room. In response, Bonino just whistled.

"And where have _you_ been, Shears? Are you into cowboy boots?"

Hagelin giggled. "Does Carrie Underwood find you attractive? Having a little tryst with the captain's wife?"

The group laughed. Sheary, for his part, just shrugged mysteriously, winked. "I _am_ irresistible. Night boys. We'll get 'em in game 4 and win it all at home." He continued down the hall, swiping his key card and disappearing into his room.

Phil straightened up, testing out his calf. "Guess I'm okay. Suppose we'll call it a night - "

A _whump_ caught the trio's attention, and they turned down the hallway to look at the source. Sheary was back in the hallway, flattened against the wall as the door slowly closed. They could hear a voice inside - "Wait! It wasn't - " before the door clunked shut, and Conor looked at them with wide eyes before bounding over.

"Is Carrie Underwood in your room?" Carl whispered conspiratorially, and Conor whacked him in the arm.

"No, but my roommate is. And he is watching porn."

"Roommate...you're with Guentz, no?" Phil shrugged. "So what's the big deal?"

Conor glanced behind him, voice dropping down. "He is watching _gay_ porn. With his dick out."

Phil, Nick, and Carl shared a brief, wide-eyed glance before they broke into excited laughter and cheers, trying to keep it subdued for the rooms of sleeping teammates surrounding them. "I knew it! I knew it!" Haggy was bouncing up and down, gleeful.

"How the fuck did you know? I didn't even know," Phil proclaimed.

"For a gay man, your gaydar sure is broke to fuck," Carl retorted.

The sound of a door paused them, and they glanced again down the hall. Jake Guentzel was peering out. "I'm really sorry. You can come back...oh...no." He slumped down when he saw the HBK crew in the hallway, his expression crumbling.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay!" Phil hobbled over - okay, his calf was still a little sore - putting his hands on Jake's shoulders and smacking a kiss on his forehead. "Look, you know nobody cares. Why even try to hide?"

"Don't you have a...girlfriend?" Nick Bonino looked suspicious now, eyes narrowed, and Guentzel looked down, blushing.

"I did. We broke up a few months ago, though."

Phil nodded sagely. "I agree, girls suck. So you decided to try out the other side?"

"Uh...I...well I never...um...I mean, I always knew I liked both, but, uh..."

"Oh my god, we have a brand new homo." Phil grabbed Jake in a hug, ignoring the squirming and protests. "I'm so proud! I am going to teach you _everything!_ ...later. Right now I have to get to bed." Kessel made an excited squeak, patting Guentzel's cheeks which were blushed red. "This is gonna be _great_ , buddy."

Jake, for his part, muttered something unintelligible and fled back to the confines of the room. Conor slid past Phil, elbowing him in the side. "Hey, thanks for traumatizing my roomie." Kessel just grinned.

"Well it sounds like he did the same to you, so turnabout is fair play." Sheary laughed and nodded, following Guentzel inside and letting the door slide shut.

Phil couldn't have asked for a better distraction. He wished his former linemates a good evening and went back to his hotel room, which suddenly seemed much less cold and sterile and alone. He had some hook ups to arrange.

~~~~~

"I win!" Geno hooted as Phil Kessel finished his story of the previous night. Practice was over and Guentzel had been hustled out of the locker room, ostensibly to talk to the press, but really so the veterans could talk about _him_.

"Shit," Fleury muttered, digging out his wallet. Kessel surmised there was some sort of bet between the two in regards to Jake's sexuality that Flower had just lost. Somehow, he felt a little more vindicated that one of the other gay men in the locker room also hadn't figured it out.

Phil sighed, trying to get the group back on track. " _Any_ way, I'm thinking that if we win the series, the Payment gives Jake-and-Bake his first little man-date. Assuming we don't need to use it for anything else."

Sidney Crosby didn't need to look to see Fleury staring at him. "Uh - I don't think we will. Need to use it for anything else, I mean. I think we're good. I think it's a _great_ idea."

Phil gave his captain a look that plainly said that Sid was acting weird and continued. "Problem is, I don't really know the Preds. So I don't know who would be a good pick. Horny?"

"Did you just call Guentzy, 'Jake-and-Bake'?" Hornqvist stared at Phil for a long moment before breaking into a grin. "I _love_ it! But, I've been away from Nashville too long. It's been years, boys. Shea Weber was still captain. I mean, Cully was still with me on the Preds! So I dunno, you'll have to ask one of 'em. I mean - I could ask Matty, er, Ekholm, but he's dense as a motherfucker sometimes and I don't think he'll know. I guess I could ask Fish...but we aren't really that close. And he's a real uptight prick sometimes. So..."

Sid peered at his phone, suddenly remembering this year's All-Star Game, the conversations with P.K. Subban and the exchanged phone numbers. "Let me ask around before you try Fisher."

~~~~~

**Hey P.K. It's Sid.**

Sid's phone buzzed quickly with a text back.

**wow, this is a surprise. come to beg for mercy?**

**Ha. No. Wanted to talk about the Payment.**

**....k....**

**Nothing serious. Look, I normally don't even ask for Payment if we win the Cup. But we've got a kid on our team. Jake Guentzel, maybe you've heard of him?**

**maybe**

**We just found out he likes guys. Problem is, he's super shy. He'll never act on it. So we figured maybe we'd use the Payment and set up a date. You got anyone on your team that would be up for something like that?**

**OH SHIT! forsberg. he's ALSO way private and secretive about it all. definitely likes dudes but paranoid about being found out. i dunno if he ever gets laid. it'd be perfect. however, you're not winning the series. so maybe i'll see if fishy is willing to do the same when we win**

**That would be fun. Let me know how it goes.**

Half an hour later, Sid's phone buzzed with a random string of smiley-face emojis finishing with an eggplant that returned as an answer and took that to mean a "yes".


	2. Chapter 2

"Fuck! _Fuck!"_ Sid tried to tune out Malkin, who was on a rampage in the locker room, throwing anything that didn't personally belong to a teammate or that wasn't nailed down. The Pens had lost. So close to the Cup, and yet...

The sting of defeat never got easier. Crosby still felt that 2008 loss to the Red Wings. Like an old wound, sometimes it acted up, itched and burned and irritated him at the most random of times. Tonight would add another scar to Sid.

Next to him, Jake Guentzel had his hands pressed to his face, tight enough that his skin was white around his fingers, and Sid knew he was crying, but trying not to show it. He patted Jake's knee, who nodded slightly in acknowledgement but did not lift his face.

At least he'll end up having a fun time, Sid thought to himself, remembering the set-up he'd made with Subban. And hopefully, many other chances to win the Cup throughout his brand new career. Sid hoped he was a part of a number of them. But you just never knew, and that's why it sucked so much.

Sid was feeling a twang of annoyance at the Preds as the time ticked by. The team had long since showered, the media fled to whatever holes they'd crawled out of, and now they'd just been waiting, uncomfortable and mostly silent, minus Geno ripping shit up. The Preds knew what the Payment would be, why let the Pens sit and stew for so _long?_ \- suddenly, his eyes were drawn to Marc-Andre Fleury. Flower sat closest to the door, and he was now sitting straight up at attention, staring outside the locker room. Sid followed Flower's gaze to P.K. Subban, who was out in the hallway, looking upset and gesturing to Crosby. About time!

With Malkin still throwing a tantrum, nobody - minus Fleury - noticed Sid slipping out of the locker room. P.K. smelled like champagne and beer, and Sid swallowed back regret. "Hey, P.K. Congrats again. So I figured we'd ask for deferment tonight; I mean, Forsberg probably wants to celebrate with you guys, and Jake is REALLY upset, and - "

"Fish didn't choose Guentzel." Subban's tone was flat, his face betraying his dismay. "He...Sid, he chose you."

"Me?!" Crosby took a step backwards, involuntarily, shocked by the turn of events. "Me? But what did I do?" He racked his brain for something outside of the normal battles, anyone who he'd previously pissed off. He and James Neal had never seen eye to eye, but they weren't enemies.

"I don't know. He won't tell us," Subban hissed, and Crosby groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Both men knew what that meant; if the general team wasn't privy to a Payment, something terrible was probably going to happen.

"Fisher doesn't seem the type."

"I'd agree with you, but quite frankly, Sid, I've seen a lot of 'good men' that were good only until they were throwing a punch at you, or shoving their dick down your throat." Subban pursed his lips; it seemed to Sid that he spoke from experience. "I'm sorry. I don't know what he has planned, and I'm still new to this team. I don't have the pull to stop this. Whatever _this_ is."

"I wouldn't have asked you to anyway, P.K.," Sid forced a smile, feeling suddenly very fond of the ex-Hab. For all their on-ice battles and even off-ice chirps, the Listerine incident and more, Crosby felt grateful for the brotherhood that extended off the playing surface. "It's a big favor to ask, and we don't really know each other that well. I don't deserve that favor even if you had one to give. So don't worry about it."

"Here." Subban opened his fist - Sid just now noticed it had been clenched - revealing four pills. "Two Vic, two Percs. Don't, like, OD on me or anything, I don't know your tolerance. But if Fish does have something terrible planned for you, these'll take the edge off."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot," Sid replied sincerely, opening his palm to accept the pills. He knew the NHL was cracking down on painkillers, so these had to come from P.K.'s likely too-small stash.

"Don't worry about it. I...volunteered to come collect you. So go take a pill or two, tell your boys, and then we'll go."

"Right." Crosby popped both Vicodin, leaving the Percocet for later in his pants pocket. He swung into the dressing room, grabbing a Gatorade and washing the pills down. By now, Malkin was crumpled on the floor, breathing hard, and without his fury as a distraction, the entire team turned to look at him.

"I - " Sid cleared his throat as his voice cracked. "I've been chosen. For The Payment."

He flinched as various howls of 'WHAT?!' came from around the room. Kessel, Hornqvist, Malkin, Fleury; all of them knew about the now-discarded agreement with the Predators for Guentzel's first date. "But we had an agreement," Kessel hissed.

"I know we did, Thrill. I guess that agreement has changed."

Fleury let out a string of snarly French, filled with curse words and threats against the Preds. Hornqvist jumped up and smashed his fist against his locker stall. It looked like it hurt terribly, yet he just looked furious, not hurt. "I fucking knew it! I knew Fisher was a rat bastard! Goddamnit!"

"It's fine, guys. It's fine. It will be okay. Don't worry about it. I'm not," Sid lied for the sake of his team. Most of the rookies visibly relaxed, just a little, but the veterans still looked grim; they'd been around Crosby long enough to know that he'd do anything to relax the group, even if that meant hiding his feelings. "Gotta go now."

He turned to go, and suddenly arms enveloped him from behind. He knew without looking, just based on the touch, the smell, the everything that it was Fleury. "We'll get through this," the goalie whispered in his ear, and Sid's heart sang, that even with the recent events, with Marc-Andre so disappointed and angry at him over the Jackets Payment, that Fleury still cared, still loved him as a best friend. He tousled his fingers in Marc-Andre's still-wet hair for just a moment before they broke apart, and Sid left the locker room.

P.K. turned without a word, leading him through the familiar halls of PPG Paints Arena. They passed the visitor's locker room, which was still filled with noise, whoops and cheering and music, and Sid frowned. "We just passed your room."

"I know. Not going to the room." Subban turned down a hallway that led to the loading dock. Crosby paused for just a moment, mind racing with possibilities, before following the Pred.

The loading dock was open to the parking lot, and a black car sat idling in the lot. The windows were tinted so that Sid couldn't see in, and he knew the car was for him. P.K. pointed and confirmed his suspicions. "All I know if you're supposed to get in that car. Hey..." Subban turned and pulled him in for a bear hug, patting him on the back. "You're a real bad ass motherfucker, Sid. You got this."

Crosby returned the hug, pulling away with a small smile, and started down the steps of the dock to the car. He tried to keep his face neutral, passive, for anyone in the vehicle who might be watching, who might get off on his fear. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the backseat door to find - 

Nobody. Nothing. Besides the driver, the car was empty.

Sliding inside, the vehicle started in motion. Sid stared at P.K., who had remained on the dock, watching silently, until they turned the corner and Subban - and PPG Paints Arena - was gone.

~~~

They drove for 10, maybe 15 minutes, the driver silent, until they pulled up in front of what looked like a small office building in a part of Pittsburgh that Sid was not familiar with at all. The building was nondescript, no business name or advertisements, boring and beige, like it was meant to be overlooked. It could almost be mistaken for abandoned, except it wasn't derelict.

The driver finally spoke. "Get out and ring the doorbell. Then wait. You will be escorted in."

Sid decided it wasn't worth responding to, and he slid out of the car and shut the door with a thunk. The second it latched, the driver jammed on the gas pedal, leaving him alone in front of the building, staring at the vehicle receding into the distance.

"Alright then," he muttered to himself. Nothing to do but follow instructions, so he stepped up to the entrance and rang the bell. Inside, he could hear gentle chimes.

A man appeared a few seconds later. He was a physically intimidating man, with easily 5 inches on Sid's height, and it looked like he was no stranger to a scrap or two. The bouncer opened the door, nodded him inside. "You been expected. C'mon, follow me."

They crossed what appeared to be a generic business lobby, dark and silent, with a receptionist's desk and a "welcome!" plaque. Just beyond there was an elevator, and the bouncer pressed the call button, waiting. As the doors dinged open, Sid could just vaguely make out music, bumping a loud and incessant beat.

The music got louder as the elevator descended with the pair inside. It was club music, techno, and Crosby marveled at what was happening despite himself. Some sort of secret club, right here in Pittsburgh, and none of the Pens knew about it? But the Preds did? This was incredibly strange.

The elevator gently touched down to the bottom floor and its doors slid open. Music now assaulted Sid's ears, and he squinted in the low light. In front of them appeared to be a hallway, with doorways leading off on both sides. He stared left and right as the bouncer moved steadily through the hallway, bypassing the rooms. The first entrance led to a dance floor, where the music was coming from. Sid saw flashes of bodies dancing and grinding, maybe 80 to 100 people, and a live DJ. As they retreated from the club scene, the music got a little softer and now there were other sounds, moans and screams and - 

Moans and screams? This was concerning. Crosby lagged behind, walking slower so he could peer into the rooms off to the sides. As the doors flashed by he saw flesh, naked bodies, people having sex. But more than that: women and men suspended in mid air, tied up; one room where a woman had her high heels dug into a man's chest, who was whimpering; still another room where a woman was crying, being paddled ruthlessly by a man while she sucked another's dick.

What in the fuck was this place?

The bouncer stopped at a room near the end of the hallway, one of the only ones that had a door, and knocked once. Sid couldn't decide if that was a good thing; discretion was always appreciated, but the closed door was terrifying. "In," was the only word the bouncer said, and Crosby took a moment to feel sorry for himself, pausing at the door before turning the handle. His palm was sweaty, nearly slid off the handle.

There were a lot of possibilities racing through Sid's mind for what could be in the room, but none of them came remotely close to the truth. The door slammed behind him, and Pekka Rinne loomed in the center of the room, arms crossed, wide stance, almost like he was goaltending. Unlike on the ice, however, he was bare chested, and wearing what looked to be real leather pants. A variety of what looked like, to Sid's untrained eye, instruments of death and destruction lay neatly about the room. Ryan Johansen was lounging on a couch pushed against the wall in casual jeans and a t-shirt.

"You know, if this is some sort of Hostel situation, they'll figure out pretty quick that you killed me," Sid noted, trying to disguise the horror in his voice.

Pekka obviously didn't get the reference to the gore film _Hostel,_ but Johansen laughed loudly. "Jesus man, you're so vanilla. This is a BDSM club."

"Seriously?" Sid crinkled his nose, looking around again with that new information in mind. "And you chose me? Look, Hornqvist loves this shit, even Phil digs it, I'm sure you could get someone actually enthusiastic about this..."

"Maybe we don't want you fucking _enthusiastic,_ Sidney Crosby." A voice behind him, a third man which he hadn't seen yet, made Crosby's breath catch in his throat. It wasn't...it couldn't be...

But it was. Brandon Dubinsky slid into Sid's vision with a terrible smirk on his face. "You miss me, baby?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, trigger warning: this is pretty well non-con and will involve just about every bodily fluid out there (blood, sweat, semen, pee, spit).
> 
> Second, the guiding principals of BDSM, while it seems a bit extreme, are "safe, sane, and consensual". You could argue this is none of the three, which I why I tagged this as "BDSM Gone Wrong". So this is definitely not representative of the community as a whole.
> 
> Third, with 3 men and a lot of props, and this being unbeta'd, I'm sure there is some sort of continuity error somewhere (I caught a few in my own edits for sure). Feel free to give me a yell if you spot anything.
> 
> Fourth, there is a small call out to a previous AU fic at the end with Scott Hartnell. No need to have read it; see the series summary on chapter 1 for details.

Immediately, Johansen's presence in the room made sense. Sid looked past Dubinsky to the two Predators, baring his teeth. "What the fuck is this? You know this isn't allowed! Nobody but Nashville can be here!"

"Can you prove that he is?" Ryan answered lightly, folding his hands in his lap. Brandon nodded along.

"I didn't fly here, no plane ticket. My car is sitting in my driveway; I took someone else's. Cam will vouch that I spent the last few days with him, training in the off-season. Just your word against mine...and theirs," he finished, jerking his thumb behind him towards Pekka and Ryan. "I told you. I told you I'd get revenge. Just so happens that Joey is one of my best buds, and his team just beat yours. Funny how life works, eh?"

"This isn't fair." Sid had to work hard to keep his breath steady, stop himself from hyperventilating.

"Oh, Crosby. You're whining again," Brandon cooed, stepping up to the Penguin and starting to unbutton his dress shirt, slowly, almost affectionately, while Sid stood still, fists clenched at his side. Dubinsky untucked the shirt from Crosby's dress pants and flicked it open, pushing his undershirt up to his ribs and taking a moment to just look at Sid's belly.

Then he reared back and punched Sid in his now exposed stomach, as hard as he could. Crosby doubled over, going to one knee, but did not drop further. "That...that was immensely satisfying," Brandon declared, and sauntered over to the couch, dropping next to his former Blue Jackets teammate who was laughing.

Crosby's head tilted to look at the group, but his eyes were drawn away from the men on the couch to Pekka Rinne, whose gaze shone bright and excited. A hint of a smile played around his Nordic features as he spoke. "Yes, Sidney Crosby - oh, you are _perfect._ You know, I am not really invested in this little...feud of yours, with Brandon," Pekka waved his hand dismissively, "But it has given me the opportunity. To see what you are really made of."

Ryan piped up from the couch, "See, Pekka is a Dom - Domin - uh, what do you call a dude Dominatrix?"

" _Dom_ is acceptable," Rinne replied with a tinge of annoyance.

"Right. So Pekka is a Dom. We thought this would be a real exciting time to introduce you to his world. Who knows, maybe you'll have fun? But probably not. The loss of control is going to drive you absolutely fuckin' batty."

"You're straight," Sid leveled the charge at Rinne, who just shrugged.

"Yes, I do have a wife, and do not much consider myself into men. But I am into domination, in all forms, on all people. Women are my preferred canvas but I cannot pass up an amazing opportunity. And your will is legendary," Pekka breathed, almost reverently. "I cannot wait to see what it takes to break you."

Was that all it was? Sid knew how this worked, sort of. You disobey and you get punished. So all it took... "Fine, you broke me. What do you want? You want to fuck me? Come and get it. I'm not playing your game."

Pekka looked almost disappointed, clicking his teeth. "Very well. Get on your knees and open your mouth. I am going to piss in it, and you are going to drink every last drop." Crosby stared, unmoving, his jaw slack, and Rinne smiled slyly. "No? You still have some fight in you, then? Then I suppose we will play, Sidney. But before we do, we should talk about names. You, you will call me _Sir,_ or _Master,_ or _Herra_ if you'd prefer Finnish. When I tell you something, you will do it without hesitation and you will answer _yes, sir_ or some other preferred honorific as I just mentioned. And your name is no longer Sidney Crosby." Rinne turned to the men on the couch, cocking an eyebrow. "Mr. Dubinsky. What would you like Sidney's new name to be? Perhaps something like 'fuckboy', or 'puppy' or 'cunt'. But please, use your imagination. This is your time, as well."

Brandon tilted his head, pondering the question. "Princess."

Johansen bit back a giggle as Rinne nodded, all business and authority. "Very well. Princess, take your clothes off."

Sid just gawked dumbly until Pekka's face darkened, and only belatedly did he realize that Rinne was talking to him. In two strides, the Finn was across the room, delivering a hard slap to Sid's face. Fingers tangled in his hair and yanked him back up, pulling his head back to stare up at Pekka's face, 6 inches above his. "You refuse to follow even the simplest of orders? This will be a long night for you, princess. Open your mouth."

Sid decided it was in his best interests to do so, and Rinne hocked, spit right into Sid's open mouth. Crosby was just about to sputter when a hand clamped over his mouth and jaw. Pekka's eyes blazed dangerously above him. "Do not even think about spitting your master's fluids out of your mouth, boy. You should be lucky to have them. Now, because you did not properly follow orders the first time, we will have to disrobe you, which I assure you will be much less pleasant. Mr. Dubinsky, Mr. Johansen, would you do the honors?"

Sid watched out of the corner of his eye as Brandon and Ryan hopped up from the couch. Pekka released him then, but out of the frying pan and into the fire as two sets of hands grabbed him roughly. "Rip it," Dubinsky growled to Johansen. "He ruined my suit. I want to return the favor."

Crosby stumbled as the two men yanked and pulled and tore at his clothes. His suit was too well-made to be completed shredded by bare hands, but he heard buttons popping, seams creaking and ripping as the collar of his suit was yanked hard, leaving him gasping for air. Suddenly he was being spun, and he decided to take the chance, form a fist and hold it out. The force of the spin whipped his fist directly and satisfyingly into Ryan's jaw, where it made a crack, and the other man cried out in pain, stumbled backwards. Suddenly Crosby found himself thrown to the floor, Brandon jumping on top and straddling his hips, snarling as he cocked his fist back to return the favor.

Sid held his arms up protectively for the hit that never came. He tentatively cracked an eye open to find Pekka holding Brandon's fist back, calm and steady. "I know it is tempting, Brandon. But think. We have so many plans for tonight. If you break him early, the fun stops. And I promise, Mr. Dubinsky, you _will_ have fun tonight."

Brandon visibly relaxed, lowering his fist, but the snarl remained, and he followed Pekka's lead and spit on him, the aim not quite as true as the goaltender's and landing on his cheek. "No no, do not touch that, princess," Pekka smacked Sid's hand away as he reached up to wipe his face. "You have earned it."

"Goddamn - you fuckin' asshole," Johansen was just now stumbling to his feet. "Peks, let's get to the good shit."

"Well then, get him naked," Rinne replied, amusement thick in his tone.

Sid knew he wasn't going to get another one for free, so he lay limp and heavy as the two former teammates yanked clothes off. He could at least make it difficult and annoying to remove his suit. With the way Dubinsky was growling, it seemed he had succeeded. But, finally, Sid sat naked on the floor. He stared back at the three men defiantly, spreading his legs, daring them to look.

"I have something for you, princess," Pekka announced triumphantly, approaching with a thick, black leather collar and chain attached to an O-ring on the front. Pekka turned the collar to show the word _whore_ in large, blocky letters. Rinne bent to fasten the collar around Crosby's neck and Sid jerked back - just an inch - before allowing the goaltender to collar him. Pekka made a thoughtful _hmm_ as he fastened it. "Still trying to test my boundaries, I see. You may come to regret that." The collar snicked on and Pekka threaded the chain through his fingers, yanking hard and dropping Sid face-first onto the floor. Crosby snarled and immediately tried to jerk away, only successful in choking himself. Something about the collar and its implications brought visceral reactions of anger in him, and he twisted and yelled fruitlessly until he was panting on the floor, exhausted. Pekka put a solid boot on his upper back, ground in his heel. "Are you quite done, dog?"

"Fuck...you," Crosby grit out, cheek against the cool cement floor.

"Perhaps later, princess." The boot was removed and the chain yanked again, this time forcing Crosby back up to look skyward at his tormentor. Pekka addressed his next inquiry to Brandon and Ryan. "Sirs, I will need help with this next endeavor, since we have here a disobedient little pup. Get him over to that stand, and hold him up there." Sid followed Rinne's nod. Crossing two pillars, there was what looked almost like a 4x4 stretched between them, about shoulder height. Pekka handed off the leash to Dubinsky, and smiled brilliantly at the Blue Jacket. "Might I suggest you make him crawl."

Brandon yanked the chain towards the pillars, making a whistling sound that had Crosby seeing red. "Come on, boy. Let's go, let's go!"

Sid dug in his heels, baring his teeth at Dubinsky, who chuckled. "Oh, looks like we got a rabid one, boys. Might need to drag him!" From behind, Johansen put a solid boot on Sid's ass, causing him to yelp in surprise and surge forward, crawling to get away from the kicking. It wasn't fast enough for Brandon's liking, apparently, as the leash pulled quickly and incessantly, and Sid found himself on the edge of being choked and dragged, trying to keep up.

The pressure finally abated as they reached the pillars and Sid's hands flew to his neck, coughing and choking. "Good boy," Brandon said sweetly, petting Sid's head as if he were patting an animal, and just barely jumped back in time as Sid took a swing. Crosby knew it was dumb, knew he would pay for it, but _fuck that._

From behind them, Sid heard Pekka chuckle, a low and dangerous and excited chuckle, and he struggled as Brandon and Ryan grabbed his arms, yanking him to his feet and pulling him with arms outstretched on the 4x4. "Hold him still as you can," Rinne instructed, swooping in with rope, which he expertly knotted around Sid's wrists and lower arms, one and then the other.

Now Sid had his feet on the floor, arms pulled as taut as they could go, reminiscent of being crucified, minus the nails or feet restraints. He tested the restraints and barely got a wiggle from them, jerking futilely, trying not to look as dismayed as he felt.  
"Beautiful, no? To see your enemies cowed and tied before you. Knowing you have the power to do anything you wish to them," Pekka smiled at Brandon, who returned it.

"Yeah...I could get used to it."

"Feel free to jump in as you please," Rinne noted, moving forward until he was stopped directly in front of Sid. Crosby stood tall and lifted his chin defiantly as the chain from his collar made a cold trail down his bare chest. "Still so proud. Let us see how we can fix that," Pekka smiled, reaching out suddenly to grab Sid's nipples and yank, hard, between his fingers.

Crosby howled and the pressure on his nipples abated, until it was almost not enough pressure, with Pekka rubbing and rolling and twisting the nib between his fingertips. Sid's feet skidded on the floor, futilely trying to back up, to get away from the hands which were driving him crazy.

"You are extremely sensitive here, aren't you, princess?" Pekka sounded amazed, delighted, raking his fingertips slowly, too slowly, over Sid's nipples. Crosby knew he was flushed red, knew he was half-hard, and this was worse than anything so far, the humiliation of being turned on by another man just stroking his nipples. He had always been embarrassed by his response to their touch, and somehow Pekka had picked up on that immediately.

"Holy shit, I've never seen anything like it," Johansen muttered from somewhere outside Crosby's vision. Sid could hear the smirk in his voice and knew that he was never going to hear the end of this on the ice.

The touch was suddenly withdrawn, Pekka turning on his heel to stalk over to a table. "Well, I think you'll enjoy this, then." Sid's stomach dropped as Rinne turned, nipple clamps in hand, two delicate-looking chains bound between them. He let a small, distressed groan escape his lips before stifling it.

"I know, princess, it will hurt terribly. Especially since you have been so bad up until now." Rinne set the cold metal against Sid's left nipple and started turning the screw. Slowly, slowly. Just as the pressure was starting to make Crosby grit his teeth, Pekka stopped, looked up. "I can stop the clamp here. If you beg for it. Beg for mercy from me, from Brandon, tell him what a stupid slut you are, and I _may_ consider stopping."

Sidney locked eyes with Brandon, who just cocked his eyebrow, smirking confidently.

He couldn't do it.

"Ah," Pekka acknowledged the silence after a long moment, and gave another turn to the screw, and another.

The third turn broke him, and he found himself staring up at Rinne, words tumbling out of his mouth. "Please, please, stop. No more, god, no more!"

Pekka tsk'd at that, giving another half-turn which drew a agonized yelp from Sid and then started on the other nipple. Crosby was now breathing hard between his clenched teeth, spit bubbling and foaming at the sides of his mouth. "That was not very good, princess. You never even called us 'sir', nor did you explain what a dumb slut you are, as I required."

Sid took a deep breath, held it for a moment, looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else. When he spoke next, his face was ashen with anger and shame. "Sir, please, mercy. I - ...I'm a stupid whore. And I don't deserve it, but please, I'm begging you, sir, take them off, or loosen them. It hurt so bad. ...Sir."

"That was much better, my stupid whore," Pekka agreed brightly, but continued to tighten the second screw until it matched the first, ignoring Sid's howls. "Unfortunately, it was too late. I only offer deals once. You take them or you leave them. You left it."  
"Bullshit," Sid growled in frustration, and Rinne sighed mockingly, giving the chains dangling between Sid's nipples a solid yank in response.

Pekka turned from the now-screaming Penguin to saunter back over to the couch, grabbing two tools along the way and presenting one each to Dubinsky and Johansen. Ryan held it up, looking confused. "Is this a...paint stirrer?"

"All those nifty tools," Brandon nodded to a table set up, with a variety of floggers, straps, and whips, "And you give us paint stirrers?"

Pekka looked a bit insulted at having his authority challenged, even if the other two men weren't under his control. "Well, two things. One, those _nifty tools_ can kill a man if you are not very careful, which I do not suppose you will be. Two, these actual sting terribly," and with that, he snatched the stirrer from Ryan's grasp and delivered a swat to the upper thighs of both men, who yelped in tandem and clutched at the area.

"Owwww, shit, that stings! You weren't kidding," Ryan groaned, chuckling as he rubbed the area briskly. Pekka nodded, returning his stirrer.

"Remember that pain as you deliver your stings. Come, let me show you areas to avoid."

Sidney watched them approach and set a scowl on his face, looking a lot braver than he felt. He had to force himself to stop from cringing away as Pekka swept his palm across his naked body. His nipples ached every time he moved, the chain pulling and swinging, and he tried to stay as still as possible.

"Here, the kidneys. You must avoid those. Any joints; knees, elbows, neck. And spine, and tailbone. Nothing to the face. Do not get near the genitals, although upper thigh is okay. Before you strike with full force, I want you to give a gentle tap. If you are in the wrong area, that tap will allow me to warn you not to strike hard. Otherwise, please enjoy," Pekka smiled, stepped up to Crosby's face, his mouth close enough that Sid could feel every breath. "Your body is ours now, princess. Lose yourself in giving control to someone else. You make no decisions; we do that for you." He reached up to gently stroke Sid's nipples again. Between the dual sensations of the pain of the clamps and Pekka's soft, unrelenting touch, it took less than a minute before Crosby was whining, twisting towards the goaltender for more. "Shh, that's it. See how good it can be? Just submit, and we will have a very good time."

At the word _submit,_ Sid's body language changed, his soft moans stopping, pulling himself back against the board and eyes narrowing, like the word had snapped him out of the trance he had briefly been put under. Pekka just shrugged, stepping back. "Suit yourself. Boys, he is all yours."

Sid swallowed as his field of vision was now filled with Brandon Dubinsky, grinning sickly, tapping the paint stirrer against his palm as if contemplating where to hit Crosby first. The swallow went down dry and thick; he was thirsty. "You take the back, Joey. I want to look into this fuckhole's face when he screams."

Brandon started on his chest, a quick questioning tap of the stirrer each time so Rinne could ensure nothing would suffer dangerous injuries before a whippy _thwack,_ the stirrer whistling through the air before finding flesh. Behind him, Johansen was doing the same to his ass. He found that a bit easier to endure, but in front, the stirrer got dangerously close to his already-abused nipples at times and the pain was terrible and intense, nothing like the thick thud of hockey hits and board play. That, he could handle, but this felt like knives making quick cuts, over and over again. There was nothing that Crosby could do to stifle the yelps and cries, his body contorting futilely back against the board, trying to twist away from the pain, even as more pain awaited him from the back. He fell stiller as the blows did not cease, his body tiring out, although the agony did not lessen with time.

"That's enough on his chest, Brandon," Pekka's voice came, and to Crosby it seemed like a million miles away, that nothing was real except the pain. "You are welcome to move to his thighs. Ryan, you may want to move to his upper arms and shoulders."

Crosby was suddenly aware of a presence directly in front of him, even though his eyes were shut, and a voice came in his ear, hot and angry. "Look at me. _Look at me!"_ Dubinsky. Sid cracked his eyes open, weary, and Brandon tilted his chin up so they could stare at each other. "Do you remember what you did to me? I'll never forget. And I'll never let you forget. I want you to see me in your nightmares. Every night when you're on the edge of sleep, I want you to remember this chain," he yanked the links attached to Sid's collar, pulled them taut, "And remember what we did to you. _Who you belong to."_ Brandon pulled away, breathing heavily, trying to calm down, and Crosby wondered why Dubinsky's shirt was splattered with red. Something ran down his stomach and he realized that it was his blood, running from fresh wounds made on his chest by Brandon, and Brandon's shirt soaked with it as he pressed against Crosby. It probably should have made him more concerned, but he just felt detached.

The first smack against his upper thigh, followed by a crack against his bicep from Johansen, took Sid's breath away. At this point, his throat was raw from screaming, and all he could do was moan, voice crackling and breaking as the abuse continued. He felt his legs go wobbly as the minutes ticked by, compounded by the game that evening, and struggled to hold himself upright. The pain on his shoulders was intense if he allowed his legs to give out, but he could no longer properly stand. Sid felt his vision blur, rolling his head back and forth in agony.

"Sir... _please."_

His voice was a mere whisper, but Pekka must have heard it, because he sat up with interest. "Wait! Boys, stop. Princess...say that again?"

Brandon took an involuntary step backwards as Sid raised his head. Everything was red: his face, flushed terribly; his upper chest, wet and bright from a hundred small wounds; his thighs, raw and flaming. He looked delirious, and there was a feverish, terrible blankness in his eyes that slightly unnerved Brandon, even though the scene in front of him was exactly what he'd wanted. When Sid spoke, his voice was gravel. "Master, please. Please stop them. I'll be good. I'll be _good!"_

"Don't ask me," Pekka commanded, coming to stand next to Brandon. "You will address your master here next to me. If he decides it, it shall be done. What do you have to say to him?"

Sid's eyes swiveled to Brandon's. They were unfocused and glassy. "I'm..." Even in his state, there was a lengthy pause, and Johansen gave him another snap with the stirrer from behind, which seemed to cause an avalanche of words from the Penguin. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so _sorry,_ please no more, sir, master, please, oh god please, I'm begging you."

Brandon allowed himself to smile. Crosby pleading before him felt _amazing,_ and he shifted as he felt a heat spread through his stomach and thighs, finding himself a bit turned on at the sight. "I'm not done with him yet, but we can get him down from there."  
Sid was ashamed as a sob of relief ripped from his lips, hanging his head as Pekka stepped forward to untie the knots. His legs gave out once he was no longer strapped to the board, and he fell to the cement with a splat, blood and sweat smacking the floor. Rinne left him there for a moment as he went to retrieve antiseptic wipes, returning and sitting on the floor next to him, murmuring encouraging words as he pulled Sid into his lap to clean his wounds.

Brandon watched, fascinated, as Sid clung to the goaltender, burying his face into the Finn's neck, hungry for the soothing words and gentle touches. At first, he had been annoyed at Pekka; nothing was supposed to be _soft_ or _gentle_ tonight. But he quickly realized this was just another aspect of breaking Crosby. When Sidney looked back on tonight, of all he'd endured, Dubi suspected his submission to Rinne would stick in his craw and drive him the craziest.

"There you go, princess," Pekka spoke softly, fondly, as he finished cleaning the Penguin, who clung to him still. "You're going to be just fine. Now, show me how grateful you are." Rinne tipped Crosby's chin up from where it was been burrowed in his shoulder to his own face, their mouths inches apart. "Show me."

Brandon dropped the blood-specked paint stirrer on the table as Sid complied, sealing his mouth to Pekka's eagerly. Beside him, Ryan made a _huh_ noise as the pair kissed, and the former teammates exchanged looks. Pekka had Sid doing exactly what he wanted, at least for the moment. They kissed for a long time, and Brandon finally cleared his throat. He was eager to keep things rolling, and the sight of Sid ravishing Pekka Rinne was making him far hornier than he would have liked or admitted. Pekka pulled away and sunk his teeth into Crosby's neck, hissing, _"mine,"_ at Sidney before lifting his head to regard Brandon with no small amount of satisfaction. Dubi could already see the mark forming from Pekka's bite. "I have not forgotten about you, Mr. Dubinsky. Now, princess, are you thirsty?"

Sid nodded. "Yes, sir." But something about Brandon's name had snapped the fog from his eyes. He flicked his gaze over to meet Dubinsky's and Brandon saw it there, the dead, blank look starting to focus, starting to intensify again.

"I thought so. You drink from that," Rinne pointed to the corner, where a bowl - a _dog_ bowl - of water sat on the floor. "Or you don't drink at all," he finished, perhaps also seeing the fog rise from Crosby's brain as the captain started to frown. He unceremoniously dumped Sid out of his lap, rising to his feet and grabbing the collar's chain, handing it to Johansen. "Here, Joey. Take this puppy to get a drink."

Ryan took a few steps, tugging at the chain, but Sid did not move. Instead, he stared at Johansen, features twisted in a snarl of hatred, and started to stand up, shakily.

"No!" Pekka hollered once he saw the movement, and in a flash, he'd grabbed a stout little bamboo cane and expertly smacked Sid on the calf. The _snap_ of the cane was much louder than the little whips that the paint stirrers had made, and Crosby howled, crashing to the floor hard, holding his leg and whimpering. "Dogs don't stand, princess! You will crawl!" For good measure, he gave the nipple clamps, still attached, a short yank, which devolved Crosby into a gibberish mass on the floor.

Joey gave Sid almost no time to recover from the punishment, twisting and pulling the collar towards the water bowl, practically dragging the other man along the floor. After a moment's hesitation to catch his breath and compose himself, balefully staring around the room, Sid dropped his head into the bowl and started drinking, gulping down water. He was desperately thirsty, and regardless of the container, it felt cool and refreshing.

Too soon for Sid's liking, Johansen had gotten bored, had started yanking Crosby away from the water despite his protests. "Bring him here, Joey," Pekka commanded, inviting the other two men to sit on the couch. Now that Sid was close, practically underfoot, Brandon could see his palms shimmering red and raw where Ryan had dragged him along the floor, a few spots on Crosby's chest where blood was welling anew. Rinne took the chain back from Johansen and pressed his boot to the back of Crosby's head, driving his face into Brandon's shoe. "Lick, princess, while we decide what to do with you." The goaltender growled as there was no compliance. Still holding the cane, he tapped it on Crosby's raw ass. When Sidney opened his mouth to gasp, he bent down and practically shoved Sid's open mouth into the shoe. "I _said_ lick."

Dubinsky couldn't feel Crosby licking his shoe, but he could see it, and he had a hard time not staring at his enemy made slow passes up and down the top of his shoe. It wasn't particularly clean, Brandon noticed with a smirk, which gave him another idea. He twisted his foot to reveal the bottom of his shoe instead. "Lick the sole," he commanded, with an approving nod from Pekka, who handed over the collar chain. Brandon snapped it a few times, enjoying the annoyed twitch of Sid's mouth every time he did so.  
"Hey, let me get in on this," Johansen was kicking off his loafers to expose his bare feet, and Brandon had to laugh.

"You got a foot fetish, Joey?"

"So what if I do?" He nudged Sid with his bare foot, right on the cheek. "Hey, fuckface. Suck it."

Crosby looked a bit crestfallen as he regarded the toes, but willingly opened his mouth for Johansen to stick his foot inside.

Pekka watched with some interest as Sid sucked the toes, breaking away to lick down to the heel, Joey murmuring encouragement. After a long moment, he brought his gaze back up with a smile. "So, would either of you gentleman be interested in - what is the saying. Getting your dick wet?"

"Uhhh..." Dubinsky saw Crosby's gaze snap upwards towards him, and their eyes met, and Dubi wasn't sure if he'd ever have a more surreal experience, staring at Sidney Crosby sucking a foot in his mouth, naked but for a slave collar and nipple clamps. Sid narrowed his eyes in fury, but did not stop licking, and beside him Joey let out a shiver.

"Don't pretend you don't want it," Johansen nudged him. "You can act like you're straight all you want, and maybe you mostly are, but the whole team knows that you and Cammy blow each other, like, every weekend."

Brandon's jaw dropped, and he momentarily forgot about Crosby. "Wait - what? The whole team...?"

Ryan smirked, putting a friendly arm around Dubinsky. "The _whole team,_ my friend. It's obvious you guys are super weird about it and don't want anyone else to know, so we all pretend like we don't. ...fuck, princess, right there. Just suck, don't lick... Anyway, we totally do know! So, if you're letting Atkinson blow you, then I can _not_ let you leave here without Sidney fucking Crosby slobbering your knob. You'll regret it if you don't. Also, Jesus Christ, these lips man. You gotta get a piece of this." Ryan had pulled the other foot out of his shoe now and Sid switched over to it with a barely-heard grump.

"Sage advice from your friend," Pekka nodded. "I concur. Princess should bow to one of us, sexually, and it should be you. You were the one that was wronged, and besides, Joey and I are both straight."

Ryan snorted, waving his hand. "What about that kissy shit earlier?"

"A means to an end. No more."

"Uh huh."

"I am not the one with a body part currently in his mouth." Pekka gave Johansen a hard look which plainly said that teasing him would _not_ be allowed, not here and not now, and Brandon felt Joey shrink a little back into the couch. He agreed; Rinne was one icy, terrifying Nordic presence right now.

"Alright," Brandon nodded. "I could get into it. But I'm sort of afraid he's going to be teethy. You got anything for that?"

"Of course." Pekka's stormy expression cleared up with a smile, and he strode over to his tools, lifting an item that sort of looked like a spider, just with four legs instead of eight. "Spider gag. This ring - " Rinne popped his finger through the hole in what would be the spider's body - "goes into his mouth, so he cannot close it. No biting. The legs here prevent the ring from rotating in his mouth. Joey, are you finished?"

"I guess," Ryan said with a sigh.

"Princess, come here. You can stand up now."

Crosby scrambled to his feet with a glum _yes, sir_ and immediately went back down again as his legs betrayed him. With some effort, he was able to push himself standing and wobble over to where Rinne was standing, twirling the spider gag.

"Open your mouth." Crosby did as asked, reluctantly, and Pekka adjusted the ring inside his mouth, clasping the strap and buckling it behind his head to keep it in place. "Turn around and show your other masters your slut mouth."

Sidney did a slow turn, and Ryan nudged Dubi hard in the side, chuckling. Crosby's mouth was forced open in a wide 'O', and he was starting to drool uncontrollably as he could no longer shut it. Behind him, Pekka was fastening his hands together behind his back with para-cord, still belittling the Penguin. "Are you not excited about having Master Dubinsky's big cock in your mouth? You are going to be his fuck toy, princess. You are worth nothing besides a hole to come in. You are craving it, no?" Crosby said something, but the gag turned it into unintelligible English. Even without words, Brandon could tell whatever was said was not particularly flattering. Pekka reached around and bounced his palm off the chain stretching between Sid's nipples, causing him to yip. "You cannot talk, but you can nod. Nod your head, little cock slut, that you cannot wait to be face fucked." Rinne bounced his palm again, harder this time, enough for tears to spring to the corner of Sid's eyes, and he nodded his head yes.

Pekka walked Sid back over to where Dubinsky sat on the couch, forcing him to kneel down in front of the Blue Jacket. Johansen scrambled up, heading to the other side of the room, ostensibly to grab a beer from the cooler sitting there, but really because he didn't want to be _that_ close to his buddy receiving a blowjob.

Brandon was grateful to be given a little space, and even Pekka took a few steps backwards, but made no effort to conceal his interested gaze. He took the chain back and pulled Crosby's face up to meet his gaze, and he let out a long breath through his nose. Seeing your worst enemy defeated on his knees in front of you, mouth forced open and just waiting for your cock, was a powerful image. Sid's eyes blazed with rage that he couldn't do anything about, which made it that much better. "How's your gag reflex?" Dubi mocked as he yanked his boxers down. He wasn't quite fully hard yet, but figured that would change with some warm heat. Grabbing onto Crosby's curls with one hand, chain in the other, he guided the ring's opening above him and thrust his hips up.

The spider gag made it so there was no teeth at all, just hot wetness and tongue and throat. The cold metal of the gag would occasionally brush the side of the shaft, leaving him twitching with the new sensation. "Fuck," he heard himself grunt, decided to let Crosby do the work and used his hand in Sid's hair to guide the Penguins' mouth up and down on his cock, keeping the chain taut - reminding Sid who was in charge. He wanted so bad to drift his head backwards, close his eyes, it felt so fucking good, but the sight of _Sidney Crosby's mouth_ on his dick kept his eyes and head forward. Now he was fully erect, and he heard the bound man start to gag and choke as he slammed down his throat. He heard the gentle _ting_ of the metal gag as it pinged off his jeans zipper and button. Crosby was suddenly thrashing, and he managed to pull out of Brandon's grasp and look up. He had a pleading gaze in his eyes that he locked with Dubinsky, and whimpered, clearly trying to communicate something.

"We can tie him down further," Pekka suggested mildly. "Or, you may see what he wants. The clasp is around the back of his neck."

Curiosity got the better of the Jacket, and he found the closure, flicked it open. "This better be good, Crosby."

"No more gag," Sid gasped as the ring fell away from his mouth, his chin soaked with spit. "Please. I'm - going to puke. I'll finish you, but - "

He never got to complete his sentence as a leather flogger whipped across his side and he crumpled to Brandon's feet, howling. "We do not talk to our masters that way," Pekka snarled, flogger suddenly in hand. "I thought you had learned your lesson. If you wish to go without your gag, you will explain in _loving detail_ about how Master Dubinsky's cock is too big for your sorry whore mouth and _beg_ to finish him off on your own."

Sid struggled back to his knees with his hands bound behind him, silent for a long moment, chin to his chest. When he looked back up, there was a tear tracking down through his smudged cheek and holy fuck, Dubinsky could have come right then. "Master Dubinsky, your cock is huge. It's - it's too big for me. I'm going to choke, sir, and instead, I - ...I wish to attend to you properly. Please let me finish you without the gag. Please let me show you how talented I am with my mouth," Crosby grit his teeth at the final line, the words stilted, and Brandon knew it was physically painful for him to have to say them. He grinned triumphantly in response.

"Sure, princess. If you want so bad to suck my cock, how can I refuse?"

Sidney drew a deep breath, regarded the dick in front of him. _This is someone else's dick. Marc-Andre's._ Perfect. No more Dubinsky, no more whips and chains, his brain took him away to a clean bedroom where he and Fleury were finally fucking after 12 years of teasing and flirting. He sent a quick prayer to whatever gods, hockey or not, were watching, that if he gave Brandon Dubinsky the blowjob of his life, he'd get out of here with no more blood, no more scars, no more whips.

Crosby started with the balls, gently nosing the shaft up and popping one, then the other, into his mouth, rolling his tongue hot and wet before trailing his lips and just a hint of teeth up Dubinsky's cock. The man above him - _Marc-Andre, Marc-Andre,_ Sid chanted to himself - moaned and tangled his hands back into his hair, but gentler, this time. Sid flicked his tongue around the head, just long and wet enough not to be teasing, then closed his mouth and took Brandon down his throat. Down, all the way, he could do this without a gag in his mouth, as long as it wasn't forced. He pulled up, working his tongue as he moved, and back down. Normally he'd be stroking, but his hands were still tied behind his back, so he tried to take as much as he could, end it as quickly as possible.

Dubinsky shattered the Marc-Andre illusion by talking, all groans and sibilant sounds. "Fuck, Crosby, that's so good. Slow down. I want this to last."

Sid reluctantly slowed, pulling off and wrapping his tongue around the shaft, well aware of Dubinsky staring at him. Brandon took ahold of himself and smacked Sid on the cheek a few times, mockingly, before tapping his cock again at Sid's now-closed mouth. "Open up, cock whore. Take it all." Crosby paused just for an instant before doing as requested. Brandon's world shrunk down to his cock and Sidney's mouth, the heat and the wet, hips twitching as he got close. 

"I'm - _fuck_ \- I'm going to come, and you are going to swallow every...fucking...drop." This was so different from Atkinson, Brandon thought in a haze, the soft and sweet sucking that he shared with his teammate. No, this was power and position and authority and force, and even just watching his worst enemy eagerly lap at his cock was nearly enough to send him over. He forced himself to keep his eyes open as he came, wanting to watch Crosby swallow, but not able to keep the loud moan from piercing the air.

Crosby grunted in surprise as Brandon yanked his head down as he came. He tried to relax and let it happen, but a trickle of come drooled out of his mouth instead of down his throat. He let Brandon slip from his mouth, softening, started to bend his head to wipe his mouth against the couch, and was stopped. "No," Dubinsky ordered, eyes wide and excited. "Keep it there. Jesus fucking Christ, Crosby, you should do that more often. Your mouth was made to suck dick."

That phrase bounced around in Crosby's skull, and suddenly it was 2012, with Scott Hartnell face-fucking him, grunting out, _God, Sid, your mouth is just made to suck cock,_ and he snapped, propelling himself upwards to headbutt and kick and thrash and flail and do whatever he could do hurt Dubinsky and protect himself. He heard someone screaming, "No! No! No!", realized after a moment it was him, and just as quickly two pairs of hands were dragging him off Brandon and onto the floor. "Fuck you! Ask Hartnell! Ask him about 2012! _Ask him - noooo!"_ Pekka was shoving the spider gag back in his mouth and clasping it again, and now he couldn't articulate anything, just screamed in impotent rage, thrashing on the floor as Rinne kept a solid boot on his chest.

"Well, it's just about that time to take our leave. However, we can't let it end like _this,"_ Pekka declared mildly, seemingly paying no attention to the man having a meltdown on the floor in front of him. Brandon was tucking himself back in, a little shaken up, as he and Johansen stared in fascination as Rinne unzipped his leather pants, just enough to aim himself at Crosby and start to piss.

Sidney whipped onto his stomach so nothing would get into his mouth, his howls of fury taking on a distinct note of disgust and protest. Pekka paid him no mind, simply placing a firm foot on his hips to hold him still as he drenched Sid's hair and back. By the time he was done, Crosby had fallen silent, heaving breaths on the floor, eyes closed as the liquid trickled down his forehead and cheeks. When he did finally crack his eyes open, he looked beaten. Brandon Dubinsky almost felt sorry for him.

_Almost._

But he also made a mental note to ask Scotty about what Sid had been screaming about. For now, however, he waited until Pekka was done peeing. "What next?"

"Unfortunately, gentleman, our time is done. I did so enjoy the evening, and I hope you did too. Princess, your own Mr. Patric Hornqvist should be here to escort you out. He's a member of this establishment, as well," Rinne added, almost as an afterthought. "Brandon, Joey. Shall we?"

Ryan paused in front of Crosby's prone form to give a low whistle. "Well, this is something I'll remember for a long time. Toodles, Croz."

Brandon didn't think he had to say anything, but he made sure to lock eyes with Sid and grin triumphantly.

Crosby heard the three men's shoes clack on the floor, the door pull open, and a distinctly Swedish voice snarl. "You son of a dog's cunt, what did you do to him?" Hornqvist.

"You Swedes are always...so well mannered," chirped Rinne in response, and then there was a gasp, a _"YOU!"_ from Patric, and a crash as Hornqvist tackled Dubinsky to the floor. He got in one good, solid punch to Brandon's face before being yanked off the Jacket, who popped back up and spit in Patric's direction. Johansen and Rinne each held an arm, so Dubinsky was able to get right up into his face and snarl. 

"You're next, you piece of shit. Just wait til we get the chance. Just _wait_ til we get you next year." He flicked his chin towards Crosby's prone form, and Patric cried out, wiggling from the hold and running to his captain as the Preds and their guest took their leave.

"Oh, fuck, Sid. Oh, what did they do to you...fuck, fuck, fuck." Patric untied his hands, removing the gag and collar and nipple clamps, and guiding him into a shower which was attached onto the room. Only when Sid finally had shampoo in his hair, finally didn't smell like a toilet, did he allow himself to slump down on the shower bench, bury his head in his hands, trying to protect his swollen chest from the direct spray of water, allow himself to process what just happened.

Sidney Crosby had meant to end the battles by doing what he did to Brandon Dubinsky. Instead, it seemed like he had sparked a war.


End file.
